staring out from the window, looking into the world
by queenforbes
Summary: <html><head></head>A series of oneshots about The Avengers. / One day, the world will burn and fall - and it's the ones with the power to go on that will be the ones worth mentioning. Black Widow, Hulk, Thor, Hawkeye, Captain America and Iron Man - they've all got their stories to tell.</html>
1. send me here alone

**A/N: **Wow, HI. Yes, I am alive.

It's been so long - okay, I have reasons. My laptop's broken so I can only write on phone. Literally, this has been written on my phone. Plus college has started and it's work, work, work, did I say rest? Hahaha nope!

Anyway, this is the start of a few oneshots I was hoping to write about The Avengers because I love them so goddamn much. Enjoy?

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**send me here alone**

.

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_And now you __**send me here alone**_

_Left alone the ones loved you coward_

_—_Now You_, _**Gjan**

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_"You should have died."_

Those are the first words Natasha Romanoff can remember hearing. Car accident. Parents dead. Poor, innocent little baby strapped in the back seat. She should have died along with them.

_"You should have died."_

_"You should have died."_

_"You should have died."_

_"You should have died."_

"But I didn't," she replies when she's seven and then she sees the strange lady smile and then—_I have a proposition for you, little girl._

Natasha Romanoff is no more.

.

.

"You should have died."

Nancy Richardson gasps with horror when her (dead) boyfriend's mother spits at her. She's desperate, shaking her head and protesting, "No, Deirdre—,"

"Don't you call me that!" Deirdre says sharply. "He went on that boat for you and your stupid ballet recital! He drowned because of you!"

"Actually," Nancy Richardson says calmly. There's a cold and unforgiving flicker of light in her eyes. "You'll die because of him."

Deirdre?

Deirdre who?

.

.

Lives begin to blur together.

.

.

_"You should have died."_

Natalie Rivers.

_"You should have died."_

Naomi Randall.

_"You."_

Nessa Ropas.

_"Should."_

Nicola Roberts.

_"Have."_

Nina Reagan.

_"Died."_

Nora Reynolds. Nikita Reyes. Nyx Ramos.

_Youshouldhavediedyoushouldhavediedyoushouldhavedied—YOU SHOULD HAVE—_

"Natasha Romanoff?"

A man with one eye peers down at her. He's offering her a hand which she promptly ignores and blinks, trying to gather her bearings. She is N—she is Ms R—no, that's not right: she is N—

"Natasha Romanoff," the man repeats, looking barely offended as he takes away his hand and shrugs—_okay, then_. "Nick Fury. I'd say it's a pleasure—but it's not."

"I'm not Natasha Romanoff," she says as she gets up but the words taste bitter in her mouth.

"You're Natasha Romanoff, only known survivor of The Red Room, only known Black Widow," Fury says. "You're also Nancy Richardson, Natalie Rivers, Naomi Randall, Nessa Ropas, Nicola Roberts, Nina Reagan, Nora Reynolds and Nikita Reyes." He raises an eyebrow. "You've gotten around. We've been looking for you for a long time, Miss Romanoff." He glances around the smoking debris. "What did you do?"

Ignoring his question, Natasha frowns. "You missed one. Nyx Ramos."

"Damn," Fury says. "Always forget that one. What kind of a name is Ramos, anyway?"

Despite herself, Natasha cracks a small smile. And in that same instant, the smile falls and she's emotionless once again which should make her confused but—

"What's happening to me?" Natasha clutches her head—

_Smile, don't smile, you feel nothing—_

_You should have died._

Her fingers—slim, supple, she should be used to them but they look like a stranger's—run through her hair. Her hair is short, in soft waves around her ears and she should remember getting this haircut, she feels, but she doesn't. She doesn't, she doesn't, she _doesn't_—and it's killing her. Why doesn't she _remember_?

"You should have died," Natasha repeats and it's the only thing she can remember. _Strange lady ... A proposition ... "Say goodbye to Natasha Romanoff, little girl." _

_"You should have died. You should have died. YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!"_ Natasha's screaming now and it feels like her brain is exploding as image after image, too fast for her to register, fly through.

_Red red red - room? _

_Cold smiles. _

_It's okay now—we've got you—do as we say, now—_

_SMACK! Her fist? pummels through a wooden board._

_CRASH! BANG! BOOM!_

_"She's fantastic—,"_

_"She's ready—,"_

_Let the Black Widow run free._

And Natasha is screaming, as the sheer force of thousands of memories so beautifully suppressed now come soaring to the surface all at once—

.

.

Natasha wakes in a room that's not red.

Instead, it's stark white and there's a picture of someone she thinks she should know on the wall. Captain something? She's on a bed and it's unfamiliar but comfortable. Queen-sized for a queen. The room is bare, save from the bed, a cupboard and a heart monitor. Resisting the impulse to yank the electrodes off herself, Natasha finds herself sinking into the plush pillows, feeling relaxed and calm.

But—Natasha frowns.

She should be worried about something. Something Nyx? Who's Nyx?

There's a knock at the door and the man with the eyepatch—Nick Fury, something corrects—enters without waiting for a reply. He's holding a thick booklet in his hands and a small smile lingers at his lips. "You had us a little worried."

Natasha's frown deepens. Someone whispers,_ "You should have died."_

Obviously not needing a reply, Fury walks forwards. He looks around and sighs. "Hate this room. There's never a chair to sit your ass down in."

"Who are—where am I?" Natasha demands.

"You're at SHIELD headquarters," Fury supplies and scrutinises her face for any sign of recognition.

There is none.

He lets out a low whistle and continues, "Do you know who you are?"

"Of course—what kind of a question is that?" Natasha says. "I'm Natasha Romanoff."

"Yes, yes, but do you know how old you are? Do you know what you did yesterday? Do you know what you had for breakfast last week?"

"I'm—," Natasha breaks off. How old is she?

"I'm Director Fury of SHIELD," Fury says, cutting across Natasha's increasing confusion. "See, we're very grateful for what you've done for us. So we're gonna do something for you. We're gonna give you your memories back. All of them." He drops the thick booklet into Natasha's lap upright so the cover is shown. It's plain white with "**NATASHA ROMANOFF / BLACK WIDOW**" written in bold. There's a Post-It note stuck on it, the words "_confidential and dangerous as your ass will be if you look inside_," scrawled on it. Fury's eyebrows lose their stern frown. "You've been through a lot. But we're also willing to give you a normal life if you want it."

_"You should have died."_ The whisper hushes through Natasha's confused mind.

"You won't ever have to feel conflicted with yourself ever again." Fury looks at her seriously. "You've got yourself a choice, Romanoff. Either you look in that or you get yourself a good, normal, happy life. Remember, you might not like what you see and you can't un-see things, either. Life's not that easy." Fury walks to the door and pulls it open. "By the way, you had a croissant and black coffee for breakfast last Monday. We had you followed."

"But what did I do yesterday?"

"You took down your own people because you realised what was wrong," Fury replies and it's the most infuriating answer because he adds, "But the black coffee—it's not really good for you..."

.

.

Natasha stares at the booklet.

_"You should have died." _

She could have those four words erased from her memory forever. She could stop feeling like Nyx or Nancy or Natalie—whoever the hell they were. She could have a normal, happy life.

Natasha makes up her mind. She throws the covers off herself and swings her bare feet onto the floor. In doing so, the booklet shifts and something falls out of it.

A newspaper clipping.

It's fairly old. She doesn't remember the newspaper. But the words jump out even as she bends to pick it up.

**NANCY RICHARDSON—CRAZED KILLER?**

Another piece of paper sails to the floor. This time, it looks more recent; no yellowing stains on the sheet. It looks formal, like a typed-up review. Natasha picks it up.

**The subject NR has displayed no signs of recognition when subjected to memorable items. Subject NR has had her mind successfully deleted for the rest the ninth time. **

**—****ADDED NOTE: Cause for concern? Subject NR been having recurring nightmares of "past lives". Remembers only the line: "You should have died."**

Natasha's eyes widen. A second passes and then she's whirling around, seizing the booklet, ready to devour its every page.

.

.

A few weeks later, Natasha Romanoff is standing with her hands behind her back, assuming what she hopes is an apologetic expression. Director Fury drums his fingers on his desk.

"You are an excellent agent, Agent Romanoff," Fury begins. "Your skills and assets are invaluable."

Natasha nods.

"Don't nod, agent! We don't do cockiness and I'm not praising you! What the hell is wrong with you? You set off a bomb—,"

"That successfully killed off forty guards!"

"And alerted the others you were there!"

Natasha opens her mouth to defend her actions but Fury says something so quiet she's not sure she even hears right. He shakes his head and dismisses her, agreeing to meet for dinner as usual. Natasha leaves his office in a daze as her laser-sharp memory repeats Fury's words.

_"You could have died."_

.

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**fin**


	2. anybody out there?

**A/N: **Okay, this one is a little longer but that's because I've always felt Bruce's story was sadder than everyone else's. Don't even get me started on my baby because he's - **sob** - all - **cries hysterically** - ALONE!

Ahem, also, thank you to those who reviewed, favourited and followed. I appreciate it all so very much, especially what with all the stress and problems that come along with a new year. :D

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**anybody out there?**

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_Hello, hello_

**_Anybody out there_**_? Cause I don't hear a sound_

_Alone, alone_

_I don't know where the world is but I miss it now_

_—_Echo, **Jason Walker**

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SHIELD tells him Earth has enough monsters. SHIELD says control is nothing. SHIELD asks, what if you lose that control?

Then they put a bullet through his head.

Bruce Banner wakes up and runs.

.

.

See, it's quite terrifying waking up. You're in a state when you're not quite awake but you're not asleep either; you're ... Groggy. You're barely aware of your surroundings but it takes just a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and go about your day. You know where you are, how you are; you know that you went to bed at ten thirty two and you woke up in the night to get a glass of water and you went back to bed and woke up at seven when your alarm decided to wage a one-alarm war.

But it's absolutely terrifying for someone who doesn't know how they fell asleep, to wake up. Doesn't know where they are. Or what time it is.

Or what they did.

Bruce Banner hates waking up.

He's never sure of what he'll see.

On a good day, it can be the ceiling. He loves looking at the ceiling. It's boring and plain white but staring at it makes him feel peaceful and calmer.

On a bad day, it could be the sky. Those days all he can do is close his eyes and hope, prolonging the moment until he has to get up, find some clothes and retrace his steps.

Today, Bruce finds himself surrounded by dead people and bricks that once made a building.

"_No_," he breathes, barely able to get the words out of his throat for there's a lump that won't budge, "I'm sorry, I'm so so _sorry_, _I'm sorry_—,"

He stumbles back, the stench of death lingering as Bruce turns and runs.

_He's so sorry._

.

.

He's in Mexico by the time SHIELD find him again. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean for—,"

"We've got to put you down, Bruce," the agent says calmly.

The Other Guy growls—**HULK PUT _YOU_ DOWN**—and Bruce strains to keep him down. _Come on_, he thinks, _deep breaths_—

**LET HULK GO LETHULKGOLETHULKGO**

Inhale. _No_. Exhale.

**LET HULK GO LET HULK GO**

Inhale. _No_. Exhale.

**LET HULK **

Inhale. _No_. Exhale. _No. No. No_.

Bruce manages a shaky smile even as his heart thunders away. "I can control it—,"

The agent shakes her head. "Mr Banner, you killed thirty six people. You destroyed one of our safe houses. You put everyone around you in danger, every_. Single. Day_."

Her fingers linger on her gun.

_Mr Banner, you killed thirty six people._

"Mr Banner, we're going to need you to come in."

_Mr Banner, you killed thirty six people._

"Mr Banner?"

_Mr Banner, you killed thirty six people._

"Mr Banner, are you listening? We need you to come in."

_You put everyone around you in danger, every. Single. Day._

Bruce stares at the wary agent. _What have I done? _

The Other Guy spies the gun and snarls. Bruce tries to inhale and exhale. He runs.

He's so sorry.

.

.

Bruce has learnt his lesson. He's in Thailand now, in a nice secluded forest where he can try to help other people with his knowledge. One day, he helps a man get better and the distrustful village seem to like him a bit better. The next day, The Other Guy almost destroys his house and the little girl who delivers his food.

She's a nice little girl. She's a bit chatty but she makes him laugh. This time, he makes her scream.

She stares up at him, green and towering over her, turns and screams _monster_.

Bruce finds himself deep in the forest with nothing but a gun and The Other Guy for company. He sinks on to the forest floor.

_"You put everyone around you in danger, every. Single. Day."_

**HULK PROTECT YOU**

_"MONSTER!"_

**NO HULK IS NOT A MONSTER**

_"Mr Banner, you killed thirty six people."_

**HULK—**

_"Mr Banner, there's something inside your genes."_

_"Mr Banner, we believe it's something dangerous."_

_"Mr Banner, please—just deep breaths. Please—,"_

_"Bruce? Bruce, don't—please, Bruce—you're not this guy, okay—BRUCE!"_

_"Mr Banner. The world has enough monsters."_

Bruce puts the gun into his mouth and pulls the trigger.

Then he wakes up.

.

.

When he wakes up, he's not in Thailand anymore. Bruce is in a plane and The Other Guy is roaring at him so loudly he wants to fall back asleep again.

**YOU DON'T DIE YOU STAY HAPPY HULK**

"How can I stay happy if you don't let me _die_?" Bruce roars as he clutches his head, desperation flashing in his eyes.

The door to the room opens, displaying a man. "Talking to yourself? Yeah, I find it a little relaxing myself."

Bruce sits up straight and forces The Other Guy down. He asks, "Who are you?"

"Clint Barton," Clint says as he walks inside. "Let me clear up some questions. Yes, this is a plane. No, I'm not going to kill you. The doughnuts in the fridge are mine and I get crabby when I don't get my doughnuts so that's a warning to you. And yes, I know _exactly_ who you are, Dr Bruce Banner."

"You realise I could kill you right now?" Bruce says and he wishes his voice wasn't so fearful. The Other Guy stays silent.

"If you want my doughnuts that badly, all you gotta do is ask," Clint jokes but he's got his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"How did you find me?"

"Technically, _you_ found _me_." Clint looks at Bruce's confused face and explains, "Your Hulk found me and wanted my plane. I offered up a negotiation instead."

"He's not my Hulk," Bruce corrects.

"Well, he takes pretty good care of you, that's for sure," Clint says. "Alright then—lunch? Hope you like toast because I'm not a good cook."

"I am," Bruce says and for the first time in what seems like forever, he smiles.

.

.

They fall into an easy routine.

Bruce wakes up early and makes breakfast while Clint, yawning, flops onto the sofa, scoffing at the news. Clint goes off to do "something so secret you can't tell anyone, not even your mother" while Bruce makes himself at home in the lab. He's working on a cure for a disease he'd found in Thailand. Then Clint will make lunch, they'll bin the lunch and Bruce will make it properly. They finish the day with Clint working out and Bruce reading or watching TV.

The Other Guy barely makes an entrance.

And then Clint says, "Bruce, I'm with SHIELD."

Everything goes to Hell.

.

.

At first it's quiet.

He hears the leaky tap in the kitchen dripping steadily, the night wind howling like a banshee, the small tap as he puts the spoon down onto the kitchen counter. Bruce turns and cracks a smile because _this is a joke, isn't it; Clint, you idiot, if he's told you once, he's told you a thousand times, he doesn't understand your stupid jokes_.

**NO JOKE HULK KILL HIM HULK KILL HIM**

_No_. Inhale. Exhale. _Clint's being an idiot, as usual_.

Clint's calm, sitting on the sofa where he'd been waiting for his hot chocolate because insomnia is a disease on this plane and there is no cure. His fingers graze the arm of the sofa casually but Bruce knows that's where one of Clint's many weapons rests and _oh, God, oh, God, why, why, why_? The Other Guy roars, fighting to gain control but Bruce wants to know, he wants to know why a man who had been his only friend, a man who used up all the hot water every single day and wasn't even sorry, a man who tried to judge Bruce's lunches like it was an episode of Masterchef—_no, Clint, you know it's not a five, it's a freaking eight, I am the sandwich master so bow down_—he wants. To. Know. _Why_?

"Look, before you go all Hulk on me," Clint says as he stands up, raising his palms, "I'll explain."

**HULK KILL HIM HULK DO IT QUICK**

_No. Let him—maybe he's not_—, Bruce stumbles over his words, trying to remember how to control The Other Guy. _He's my only friend_.

**HULK IS FRIEND TOO**

Bruce focuses on Clint and forces his voice to sound hard. He can't show anyone, least of all Clint the betrayer, the traitor, the friend, how much he's wanted someone to stay around. "You've got sixty seconds. The Other Guy isn't as forgiving as I am."

Clint nods and it's like he's a completely different person, all professional and calm, no more of "eat that doughnut, Bruce, and I'm taping over The Science Show, I swear to you, you step away and we'll part friends, because friends don't eat each other's doughnuts, don't you dare, Bruce,"—fifty seven seconds.

"Things have changed; we've got a new director now—Fury—and he doesn't want to kill you, he just wants to talk to you—,"

Fifty one seconds.

"So he sends you in to pretend to be my friend, to trick me because I'm _poor little Bruce with an anger management problem_, I'm _pathetic Bruce with no friends_, I'm The Other Guy who will _kill_ and destroy everyone—,"

"It wasn't that, Bruce."

Forty four seconds.

"You know, I've heard of this. It's what HYDRA did. Sneak in, cosy up to everyone, make them trust you only to slit their throats in their sleep."

Clint's jaw tightens. "We're SHIELD, not HYDRA."

"Have I touched a nerve, Clint? Why so defensive? Or—wait, is your name even Clint? Maybe it's Jack or Oliver or—you look like a Jeremy, are you a Jeremy?"

"You need to calm down, Bruce—,"

"DON'T CALL ME BRUCE!" Bruce roars and his arm is out, sweeping into the jars on the counter. They fall to the floor, shattering instantly into tiny pieces of glittering glass. "You—_you_ don't get to call me anything, Clint or Jack or Jeremy—you are _not_ my friend—,"

The Other Guy is roaring so loudly Bruce's ears are going numb.

Twenty eight seconds.

"Br- my name is Clint. Everything I told you was true; I do love my doughnuts. But we're not going to hurt you—,"

"That's what they all say," Bruce scoffs derisively and he can feel The Other Guy's protective fury as they both relive the memory. "That's what they say—right before they put a bullet in my head."

Blinking in shock, Clint falters. "SHIELD wouldn't do that—,"

"SHIELD did."

"Bruce, I'm—,"

"I don't need your pity or your sympathy and only my friends get to call me Bruce!"

Thirteen seconds, Clint remembers.

The door to the plan comes crashing open and what do you know, they've been on the ground ever since this afternoon when Bruce commented on the sudden stop and Clint waved it off but shut the windows, and _trust me, Bruce, you do not want to see those damned birds in the morning; they're evil, I'm telling you_.

Bruce turns towards Clint even as the SHIELD agents pour into the plane and really, SHIELD? You just want to talk? You want to make friends because he can peel your spine from your neck and shatter your bones like pencils?

"Mr Banner, we just want to talk to you."

"Bruce, they're not going to hurt you," Clint says and damn, he's forgotten, again, hasn't he? He's forgotten because only Bruce's friends can call him Bruce but that doesn't really matter because he has no friends anymore.

"I know," Bruce says and he's tired, _exhausted_ with the effort of keeping The Other Guy in control, _just one quick breather, he'll be okay, give him a minute, he's had a bit of a rough night, you see—_

And then he wakes up.

.

.

**HULK FAIL**

Bruce blinks groggily. _What_? He rubs at his eyes, staring around the stark white room.

**HULK FAIL HULK NOT PROTECT YOU**

_Did you hurt anyone?_ Bruce is suddenly desperate, barely noticing his surroundings as he strains to remember.

_His hands are green and he goes straight for Clint—_

_"Bruce, Bruce, Bruce, you don't want to hurt me—,"_

**"BRUCE GONE. HULK HERE. HULK SMASH."**

_"Hulk, then. Look, you don't want to do this—I'm your friend, remember?"_

_"Don't shoot, for God's sake! Get out of here! Hulk, look, mate—I know you, remember?"_

_"Agent Barton—,"_

_"Fury, I can do this."_

_"We've talked. Sort of. When Bruce is asleep, have you forgotten?"_

_"You're a good guy. You don't want to do this. All you want is to protect Bruce—well, that's what we want, too. We're not going to hurt him—we would never."_

_"You have my word I will do everything in my power to protect Bruce."_

_Pause._

_Clint shoots him—_

And he wakes up.

.

.

His head is aching, a dull thrum like the steady hand of a tick ticking clock and he remembers a time of lush green and blue skies and the sharp familiarity of glass beakers and the feel of finding something truly _extraordinary_—

"You're up."

Bruce barely glances at Clint. He can feel The Other Guy's apologetic exhaustion and wonders if this is it. If this is the end. If so, it seems ... Peaceful.

"I always thought you were a cool guy."

"I don't need your sympathy. Are you going to kill me or not?"

"Bruce, I was telling the truth—nobody will hurt you here."

"Then why did you trick me? Why did you call yourself my friend and lie to my face just to shoot me in the head?" Bruce finally turns to him, his voice rising in anger. Then the anger simply fades away, exhaustion taking over.

"I never lied to you," Clint says. "And we're still—wait, you remember?"

Bruce doesn't answer. His hands run through the warm white sheets and he's felt something of this kind of warmth before—when his mother smiled at him proudly and called him her brainy Bruce, when she'd drop him off at school and boast to everyone else about her son, when he'd moan that, _mom, you're so embarrassing_ and she'd plant an extra wet kiss on his cheek in front of everyone just to embarrass him further, call, _bye bye my darling, I love you so much_—

"You remember! This is great—this is exactly why we wanted you—," Clint says. "We wanted to help you. We wanted you to accept Hulk."

And then his father killed his mother and there's no more warmth to be felt. Bruce sighs. "The Other Guy has to be controlled—,"

"No, he doesn't! You just have to accept him because all he wants is to protect you."

Bruce wonders.

.

.

Two weeks later, Bruce is bustling about the SHIELD laboratory, while Hulk moans about how bored he is and would Bruce let Hulk watch YBox? "It's X-Box," Bruce corrects, though he cracks a smile as he pours acid into one of the beakers. "And you don't watch it—you _play_ it."

His hands pass the sheaf of papers that SHIELD want him to fill out and that he will never fill out, as Bruce picks up the cold coffee. He drinks, pulls a face and pours the rest down the sink. "Anyway, Clint's coming soon so you'll—,"

"I'm here—what are you talking about? It's me, isn't it?"

Clint steps into the laboratory as Bruce shakes his head. "Acid! Acid, acid, acid!"

With the air of someone who has gone through this before, Clint effortlessly side steps and flops down onto the sofa Bruce barely sits down in. "Want a doughnut?"

Bruce takes the proffered doughnut as Clint glances around. "Okay," Clint begins with a grin. "If I've said this once—,"

"Oh, _great_," Bruce says, rolling his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how cocky you are?"

"Many times," Cliny replies easily. "Mostly Nat. But you're changing the subject, Bruce-ey!"

"My name isn't—,"

"You're having fun in this laboratory, right?"

"Yes," Bruce grumbles. "I need you to burn these papers—,"

"Hulk's loving SHIELD?"

"Yes."

_"Told you so!"_

.

.

**fin**


End file.
